Harmony's Resolution
Dawn at the Lisbon harbor was not romantic. It was functional. Ships exhaled diesel into pale morning light. Gulls argued over rope posts. The Tagus moved in slow, muscular tides toward open water as if it had already decided something and wasn't interested in debate. I stood back from the pier. Not hiding. Observing. Harmony stood closer to the water, coat pulled tight around her, hair caught in wind that hadn't decided whether it belonged to night or morning. She didn't look like someone waiting to be rescued. She looked like someone waiting for the world to admit she existed. Garrett approached without an escort this time. No council. No emissary. No audience. Just the two of them—and the horizon. He stopped several feet from her. Far enough to avoid presumption. Close e
- Writer
